On Quiet Days
by Meandmysarcasm
Summary: Belle has a few quiet days in the library, so she decides to use her time to make her husband a little present. Cute little fluff


Belle French pulled a face as the wool in her hands tangled for the umpteenth time.

"Just take it slowly," Mary-Margaret advised, giving her a reassuring smile from across the table.

"It's harder than it looks," Belle confessed.

Her frustration only grew when she glanced down and saw Mary-Margaret's handiwork. She'd knitted a perfect pair of baby boots, sky blue without any loose strings of wool. They even had cute little ribbons on the front. Belle couldn't even begin to guess how to accomplish that.

"It just takes practice."

Belle huffed out a sigh and let her eyes wander around the room. Not another soul in sight. Sometimes she secretly preferred it that way. Every now and then it was nice to have the library to herself. On quiet days she could make herself a cup of tea in the little kitchen and wander around at her leisure, pulling out titles that caught her attention, smirking at the books she loved best, as though they'd shared a private joke.

Sometimes there were still a dozen things to do, of course. The library didn't run itself. There were usually books to re-shelve and new donations came in all the time. And sometimes people returned them damaged, with battered spines and dog-eared pages. Belle forced herself to bite her tongue whenever that happened. It could be easily fixed, after all. The person responsible would pay a small fine and then Belle would take the poor book to Rumple to 'cure'. Problem solved.

Although it still bothered her that people could be so irresponsible with the books. They could be damaged and ruined so _easily._ To her, each one was precious, like a jewel mined by a dwarf.

Belle shook her head and placed her tangle of wool on the desk. It would take ages to figure out where she'd gone wrong and extract the needles to try again.

"What were you trying to make?" Mary-Margaret asked, fiddling with a button on her coat.

"A urm, scarf," Belle said, feeling a smile tugging at her lips.

And why not? The explosion of burgundy wool before her could have just as easily been a pair of socks or a hat.

"You'll get there."

Belle nodded. Perhaps she could look through the craft section of the library later. She was almost sure there were a few books that might help her.

"How about a cup of tea?" She called over her shoulder, putting her latest attempt in a drawer for safe-keeping.

 _ **A Few Days Later:**_

Rumpelstiltskin finished polishing the pocket watch and stood back to admire his work, running the cloth through his hands. The quiet ticking filled the room like music. Late afternoon sunlight sifted in between the gaps in the blinds, making the watch gleam.

Satisfied, he tucked it into a cushioned box and put it in a display cabinet. He knew it was only a matter of time before the original owner came to claim it. They always did. Ever since the first curse broke, all manner of people filtered into the pawn shop, demanding the return of their possessions.

At the thought, Rumple's smile grew wicked. Hardly anyone would notice the bitter edge to the expression he could see staring back at him in the glass counter. How ridiculous of them, he thought. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly they forgot he was still the Dark One, capable of turning them into snails and crushing them underfoot.

Not that he _would,_ at least, not with Belle around to keep a leash on his temper. But still. The things they wanted back were rightfully _his,_ after all. A broken curse didn't turn back time. They'd all made deals with him in the Enchanted Forest, before Regina even dreamt up Storybrooke.

No doubt the owner of the watch would be the same. Rumpelstiltskin's fingers tightened on his cane as a shiver of anger ran down his spine. The man in question was the manager of the local bar, The Rabbit Hole. A waste of real estate, in his opinion. He still remembered his horror at discovering Belle in there, back when she'd been cursed to be Lacey. And though he knew it was irrational to blame the manager of _that_ place, he couldn't help himself.

He let out his breath in a rush, just as the shop door opened. A cool prairie breeze wafted in, causing a few loose sheaves of paper to dance. The bell tinkled and Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes.

"I'm closed this afternoon," he drawled, his back to the door. "So I'm afraid that if there's some kind of emergency, you're just going to have to handle it without my stunning brand of wit."

He heard a cough behind him, and he turned to find Belle standing in the centre of the shop. To his surprise, he felt a flush rising to his face. No matter how hard he tried, she kept slipping past his defences. And sure enough, when he met her eyes he recognized the slightly stubborn expression on her face, a flicker of disappointment at his dark humour. He resisted the urge to mutter a curse under his breath as he stepped out from the counter to embrace her.

She wore one of his favourite outfits today, a tweed skirt and lacy blouse and she looked absolutely radiant in them. Enough to make him forget all about the albino imbecile who ran The Rabbit Hole. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling Belle close enough to smell the strawberry shampoo she'd used that morning.

"Belle," he said fondly. "I've just been taking inventory. Let me lock up and then we can call in Granny's on the way home. Tell me, how was your day?"

"Quiet," she said. "Mary-Margaret stopped by for a while."

"Oh?" Rumple said, feeling his smile slip for the first time. Wherever Snow went, trouble seemed to follow. But Belle liked her, and Rumple supposed he could feign politeness if it made his wife happy. He knew she found it difficult enough in this town. Nobody exactly lined up to be your friend when you were married to the Dark One. So he tried to make life easier for her in little ways, helping out the heroes, trying to resist the darkness his magic wanted to unleash. He wanted to be better for her, after all. He wanted so desperately to be the kind of man she deserved.

Belle chatted away as he pottered around the shop, locking up all the display cabinets. Only once they were outside did he notice that she held something in her hand, tucked away almost behind her back.

"What's this?" He asked, gesturing at it.

Belle's grin turned sheepish.

"It's what me and Mary-Margaret have been doing these last few days," she admitted after a long pause. "Nobody's been to the library for a while, so we've been urm… knitting."

She said the word with a blush that made Rumple's heart speed up.

He raised an eyebrow. "Knitting?"

She nodded. "I was trying to make a scarf. For you. But it…it went a little wrong."

Rumple tried to swallow his surprise as she brought out the object in her hand, her fingers digging into the wool. He stared at her for a second, collecting his thoughts. The small crease between her brows deepened.

"It's not really ready yet," she whispered, turning the bundle over in her hands. "I thought I might…"

Her voice trailed off as he flicked out his hand. A moment later a cloud of purple smoke enveloped her arm and the scarf vanished. Instead, Rumple wrapped it around his neck, ignoring her slightly horrified expression as she caught a glimpse of the darned wool. Still, the sight of him wearing her disastrous attempt made her heart flutter.

She opened her mouth to protest and closed it again as he leaned forwards to kiss her on the forehead.

"I love it," he breathed. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Belle pulled away long enough to roll her eyes at him. Then she slid her hand into his and they walked across the street to Granny's. He didn't take the scarf off, even when they were inside and once or twice Belle caught Rumple's hand twitching towards it, a slightly dazed smile on his face.

There would be other quiet days, she told herself as they sipped their tea and talked about their days. Perhaps she could make him some gloves to match.


End file.
